


Even Agents Have Hearts

by Illusinia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M, Valentines Day Fics 2014
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-23
Packaged: 2018-01-13 01:30:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1207795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illusinia/pseuds/Illusinia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of Valentines shorts for various pairs. Written for Valentines Day 2014. Pairs are noted in the chapter titles.</p><p>Pairs so far:<br/>Mayward<br/>Mayson<br/>Skyeward<br/>James Barnes/Natasha Romanoff</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mayward

**Author's Note:**

> If you guys have any requests, just ask.

May sighed as she entered the cockpit, flicking switches as she went as part of her pre-departure check. Several lights across the console flashed green, indicating no problems. The gas meter read full, another thing to always check, and the radio crackled to life as she activated it. Everything was in order, spinning the pilots chair, she nearly dropped straight into it as was custom. It was only a flash of red that halted her motion.

  
  


There, in her pilots seat where she very nearly dropped, was a red and yellow rose- complete with thorns. Which would have been very painful to sit on. Taking a deep, fortifying breath, May carefully removed the rose from her seat and set it across the top of the console. She'd have a talk with it's giver about the proper place to leave gifts later.

\------------------------  
  
Once they were at altitude and the plane was on autopilot with their destination in the system, May unstrapped herself and headed into the plane with the offending Rose in hand. She was going to have a serious talk with a certain agent about gifts, work-place environments, and protocol.

  
  


She found said agent in the lounge, book in hand, looking like he'd probably showered not long before take-off. His hair was still wet. Idly, she wondered when he'd even planted the rose. Another question to ask.

  
  


Drawing on her irritation, May approached him, dropping the rose in his lap from behind.

  
  


Ward jumped a little when his gift suddenly appeared in his lap, staring at the rose like it was a 0-8-4. Or like it was Skye when she was talking in code speak. His long fingers carefully wrapped around the rose's stem, lifting it to his eye level before looking back at May with a combination of worry and dejection. "You didn't like it?"

  
  


"I almost sat on it," countered May. "You shouldn't leave flowers with thorns on anyone's chair."

  
  


Ward frowned a bit, his shoulders slumping a little. "Oh." Even his voice hinted at a sense of rejection.

  
  


"Furthermore," continued May, moving around the couch so she was standing in front of the younger agent, "this plane is SHIELD property. If we're here, we're at work and this isn't appropriate work behavior."

  
  


Ward sank a little more into the couch, his eyes falling to his gift. "Right, no gifts at work." Muttering, he added: "Not even on Valentines day."

  
  


Valentines day. That explained it. May had forgotten all about the stupid card holiday, largely because she didn't celebrate it. And she hadn't thought Ward would either. Apparently, she was very wrong. And now she felt bad for him; for getting mad that he'd tried to do something nice. Staring at the flower, she felt a faint smile try to slip onto her face. Even she had admit that, as misguided as it is, the gesture is a nice one.

  
  


"Not even Valentines day." Kneeling before Ward so they're eye to eye, she tilts his head so he's forced to look at her, utilizing her superior strength to force the matter when he resists a bit. "That being said, thank you." Her other hand came to rest over his where it's gripping the rose still. "It was very sweet." Standing in one motion and taking a quick step back, she nodded at the rose again. "Take it to my bunk and do whatever it is you do with flowers to keep them alive. I have a plane to fly."

  
  


Smiling a bit more than usual, Ward quickly stood, but paused beside the couch. "Will you have some time tonight? I thought we could maybe eat together or something."

  
  


"I'll see what I can do," replied May as she turned towards the cockpit, the corner of her mouth twitching into a smile. It had been a long time since she'd had any sort of plans for Valentines day that didn't involve Coulson, Sitwell, Fury, and a lot of alcohol.

  
  


Heading towards the cockpit, she listened as Ward scampered away behind her. Maybe she could convince Coulson to watch the controls tonight. She had other plans.


	2. Mayson (Melinda May/Phil Coulson)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> May goes through her day, moving through the three Valentines day traditions she keeps with Coulson every year.

It was the scent of coffee that woke Melinda, dragging her from her sleep slowly. Shifting slight on her bed, she took a deep breath to relish the scent. Coffee and...pancakes? What? That didn't make any sense. Why was she smelling coffee and pancakes? In her bunk?

  
  


Lifting her head, she found herself staring blearily at a tray resting beside her bed. There was no indication of who had left it there, but she didn't need one. Only one person in the world would bring her coffee and pancakes, even though she rarely ate anything substantial in the morning. She also knew that if she went to the kitchen right now, there would be a container in the fridge with yogurt and fruit inside. She also knew there would be a bag of granola in the cabinets with her name on it (literally).

  
  


That was all she needed to see to know today is Valentines day.

\---------------

They had a routine; they'd had for one years. Since before Bahrain or his being stabbed by an insane god. It was from before they were thrown into a world of gods and magic.

  
  


It started as a joke more than anything, mixed with a bit of post-mission care. Phil had made her breakfast after sleeping on her couch the night before so he could check on her. Pancakes and coffee.

  
  


“ _I usually only eat fruit and yogurt in the morning,”_ she'd told him with a tired shake of her head while downing half the coffee in one go. “ _If I eat at all.”_

  
  


She didn't like to be pampered, but the doctors had specifically said she wasn't allowed to do things like cook if they released her. Mostly out of fear she'd fall over in the kitchen and burn a building or something down in the process. Not everyone was Barton, but the medical staff had stopped taking chances.

  
  


He'd actually gone to the store in order to make her something she liked instead, then stole the pancakes for himself. She hadn't argued. She'd thought it was a one time thing.

  
  


The next year, they were deployed on a mission in Europe together, hunting an arms dealer with scruples that made her want to smash his head beneath her boot. She'd woken to coffee and pancakes from the cafe down the street from their hotel. However, when she'd reminded Phil, he'd just gone to a cooler and pulled out some fruit, yogurt, and granola.

  
  


Even after Bahrain, when she'd transferred to a desk job, she would wake up to find coffee and pancakes next to her, with a note about granola, fruit, and yogurt in her fridge. She had never seen Phil those times; he was always gone by the time she woke up. It had been something that helped alleviate the pressing guilt for one day in the year though, so she never asked him to stop.

  
  


It was the first tradition of the day, in a day full of traditions that they always seemed to somehow keep. Even, apparently, 30,000 feet in the air.

  
  


\- ----------------------

 

It wasn't a huge surprise when she walked into the cockpit and found a small stuffed eagle sitting on the console, staring at her. A heart was clutched in it's tiny wings with the words 'You make my heart soar' stitched across the front in white lettering. It was fitting, as every single one of them was. After Bahrain, it had been based on the Chinese New Year. Before that, well, it was based on what kind of corny thing Phil could find. Apparently this year, he'd found an eagle with a heart.

 

She checked for a tag quickly, wondering (not for the first time) if Phil had made the little stuffed thing himself. Some of them didn't have tags like most stuffed animals did, and a few had stitching that looked a little amateurish. This years was one of those: no tag, slightly uneven stitching.

 

Setting the gift carefully aside, May slid into her seat, a small smile tugging at her lips as she thought of the small pile of stuffed gifts she had at home.

 

\----------------

 

They'd been in southeast Asia this time, some tourist trap of a place with more cheap crap than May ever wanted to see in her life. Seriously, just looking at the shoddily crafted fans and clothes visitors were gobbling up disturbed her in a way she didn't want to think about. Which is why she'd been so absolutely horrified when Phil of all people had thrown a stuffed chicken at her holding a scroll that said 'You are the queen of the hen house'. It had taken a moment for her to remember it was the year of the roster. Which had really only made her want to throw the crappy stuffed creation back at her partner.

 

In the street though, she accepted it and fawned, as if it was such a thoughtful gift and not something he'd given her in order to get under her skin. When they were back in the hotel, she chucked the horrible thing at Phil's head in an attempt to make him stop laughing. It failed of course, the cotton and cloth horror bouncing off his chest harmlessly.

 

He'd just laughed, picking the stuffed creature up and mockingly handing it back. _“Your eagle, ma'am.”_

 

She'd told him exactly what he could do it with.  _“Go stuff it where it belongs: in the garbage.”_

 

“ _Come on, May, it's tradition.”_ Despite his attempt at an argument, the underlying amusement at the whole idea had shone through. There was no seriousness in his gift: it was a way to mock the traditions of the day celebrated by everyone else. 

 

So she'd taken the stuffed creature and thrown it towards her suitcase, her own reluctant acceptance. It wasn't meant to mean anything and she'd intended to throw it away when they got back. Somehow though, the creature had ended up on her dresser and hadn't moved since. She'd picked it up dozens of times with every intention of throwing it away, but always put it back. It was a reminder of their inconsistency with the rest of society. Plus, the joke was so bad, it nearly made it funny.

 

Phil must have spotted it at some point though, because every year after she'd found an equally corny stuffed animal hidden somewhere in her office or space. Once he'd even left a turtle (the year of Bahrain) on her bed. She still wasn't sure how he'd gotten it there, but she also hadn't really asked. Somehow, it hadn't felt like the violation of her privacy that it was. Then again, by the time Bahrain had happened, Phil had spent more time at her place than anyone else she knew. Possibly including herself.

 

So his corny stuffed animals had become their second Valentines tradition, another that they always maintained.

 

\---------------------------------------- 

 

“You ready?”

 

Phil's voice echoed from the door of the cockpit, drawing May's attention towards him. He was leaning in the opening, hands in his pocket and a smile on his face. Not ten minutes ago, they'd landed at a SHIELD base in Connecticut, the one they stayed at when they weren't on immediate deployment. She trusted the mechanics here to look over the plane; Phil had let her choose the base because of that alone.

 

“Ready,” she confirmed calmly, flipping the radio off and slipping out of the pilots chair. This was the third and final tradition they shared on Valentines day. It was the only one they hadn't celebrated every year _on_ Valentines day. They did this every year, but sometimes the day changed due to mission complications.

 

Following Phil out of the cockpit, she watched as he lead her towards his office/bunk. He will have already set up the TV inside, probably with the worst action film he could find for the year queued up. The mandatory bottle of whatever good hard liquor he's chosen this year will also be waiting, sitting on his bunk or desk. It's also distinctly possible he will have two coffee mugs waiting with said bottle.

 

Sure enough, when he opened the door to his bunk, his bed was folded out and the TV was flashing the title screen for some movie she hadn't heard of. Which probably meant it was horrible. There was also a bottle of what looked like scotch sitting on the bed along with two coffee mugs, just as she'd predicted. It looked a little messy for something set up by Phil Coulson, but that was the point. It's casual, relaxed.

 

The familiarity of the scene helped her relax more as she stepped inside behind Phil, shrugging out of her jacket and slipping off her boots. Likewise, Phil began to shift out of his own formal clothing, hanging his tie and jacket carefully as he always did.

 

She turned towards him silently once her shoes were off, only to have him nod wordlessly towards a pile of clothing on his dresser. A pair of his sweats and one of his tee shirts were resting there and, as always, she stepped over to pick up the clothes before turning away from Phil to strip down and change. Behind her, she could hear Phil doing the same, likely putting on the faded ranger tee-shirt and flannel pants with Captain America's shield on them. Of course, they'd seen each other naked before; when you were in the field, it was sometimes impossible to find a place to change in private. Still, they'd always turned away from each other while changing on these nights, out of respect more than anything else. 

 

Turning around a moment after she'd finished, she crawled wordlessly onto the bed, laying back so she was facing the TV. Phil followed suit less than a moment later, bringing with him plates of pizza which she hadn't even noticed was sitting in the room. Glancing at it, she confirmed it was the home made stuff, too. Very few people knew it, but Phil could cook pizza. There wasn't much  _else_ he could cook, but his pizza was amazing. Even she sort of liked it, and pizza wasn't her thing.

 

Taking the plate he held out to her, Melinda silently bit into the slice as Phil popped open the bottle of scotch and poured them each a mug. He passed her the ceramic with a picture of a ninja panda bear on it (something that had just shown up in his office one day as all his mugs did- each person had their own) and settled beside her, starting the movie. So she settled back against his bed and quietly let her mind wonder as the movie opened with a horribly cheesy martial arts fight.

 

\---------------------- 

 

It had started as something the higher ups did. Valentines day (or 'singles awareness day' as Sitwell called it) was inherently depressing for the more influential members of SHIELD. Between missions and near-death experiences (not to mention the mental damage that occurred as a result of both), most agents didn't date. The ones who did were usually administrative staff.

 

Which is why she hadn't been surprised when Phil had stuck his head into the gym on her second Valentines day at SHIELD and invited her out with some of the other agents. Which turned out to mean Fury, Sitwell, Hill, and Phil meeting in a bar to get drunk and share bad stories. Or, at least that's what the men were doing. Hill looked more like she was trying to ignore what they were saying by drowning them out with alcohol. Everyone had ended up pretty trashed that night, but none of them were lonely, which was exactly the purpose. Several more years of this had passed before the Helicarrier took flight and Fury was rarely around all the sudden. Then Hill had faded out as well, disappearing with Fury onto the flying base. That had left Sitwell, Phil, and Melinda to suffer alone until Sitwell as transferred away as well. He came back of course, but it was with a girlfriend he still hadn't shaken somehow. He wouldn't say who it was, but she suspected another agent. Possibly Hill. Neither of them were saying though, and she wasn't pushing.

 

The short version was that within a five year span, the group had shrank to two: herself and Phil. So they'd moved the party from a bar to their apartments (alternating years, her and him) and it had become a tradition just between the two of them. The first time Phil suggested they watch a bad movie, they'd already been through half a bottle of vodka. She'd agreed more because it would give them something better to do than stare at each other. So they'd thrown on some horrible action film Phil had laying around and proceeded to mock the movie to death. But as they'd kept doing this, the movies became a barrier to keep them from crossing any lines they really shouldn't.

 

Then Bahrain had happened.

 

When she'd come back from Bahrain, broken and depressed, Phil had been there and she'd let him. He'd taken her to his home, stayed with her, helped her through everything. And when Valentines day had rolled around, he'd showed up at her apartment, dragged her back to his, thrown on some horribly cliché comedy film (because he somehow knew she couldn't handle an action movie that time), and curled on the couch with her in his arms.

 

“ _Phil, let me go,”_ she'd tried to insist at the time, but even she'd known it was a weak insistence. She'd spent a lot of time curled up with him in the months since Bahrain, to the point where it had become a comfort.

 

“ _Melinda, if you really didn't want to be curled up like this with me, I'd be on the floor, unconscious, with both arms broken,”_ had been his retort and, well, he was right. So she'd settled down, tucked her head under his chin, and just let herself give in to the fact that it did make her feel cared for. It wasn't a feeling she was used to, and she'd deny that she enjoyed it until the day she died, but she'd given in all the same with only a _“If you tell anyone, they will never find your body.”_

 

“ _That's my line,”_ had been Phil's only reply.

 

\--------------------------------------- 

 

Sitting on Phil's bed with several inches between them, Melinda watched as one of the stars on the screen performed some horribly impossible move as he rolled out off a building and somehow managed to catch himself on a flag pole. “That would dislocate your shoulder.”

 

“Not necessarily,” pointed out Phil. “I've done it.”

 

“And your arm was in a sling for a week,” she countered.

 

“But my shoulder wasn't dislocated,” reminded Phil, shifting a bit on the bed as he took a drink from his mug. “Just strained.”

 

“So you say.” She can feel the smile tugging at her lips though, her eyes falling to the shoulder resting a few inches away from her. “I've never seen a sling like that for a strain.”

 

“You've never strained anything badly then.” When she lifts her eyes from his shoulder, she finds her eyes on her and not the screen. His soft smile, aimed at her, does something funny to her stomach. “Are we really going to do this again?”

 

To her credit, she didn't flinch, cringe, or even really react. She knows what he's talking about: every Valentines day since Bahrain, she'd put up a front of keeping distance between them and every time she eventually ended up curled around him. How it happens each time, she's not sure. 

 

Now, apparently, Phil wasn't up for playing the cat and mouse game. And really? She wasn't up for playing those games either. Nearly loosing him had brought some very real realizations to her attention. At first, she'd tried to keep herself distracted and then she'd used Ward as a release valve of sorts to keep her from doing anything stupid with Phil. But that had ended months ago, when Ward realized she didn't trust him like she did Phil. And now, when she's curled up in Phil's room thinking about everything he's spent years doing with and for her, there's no excuse she can come up with not to just crawl into his arms. No reason good enough exists for why she can't just let herself give in to the man beside her (because, lets face it, she wants to).

 

So she does. She reaches over and sets her mug on the nightstand, then crawls the few inches across the mattress to slip under his arm. His other arm comes up to rest around her waist as the one she'd crawled under wraps around her shoulders. With a tilt of her head, she rests it on his shoulder as her body settles against his. The feeling of his own head leaning on hers helps bring a sense of peace to her. 

 

She knows in a bit, after they've had a little more to drink, he'll probably kiss her and she'll respond. They'll end up making out like teenagers while the movie runs through to the end. But this time? This time she'll still be there in the morning. This time she's going to stay, unlike every Valentines day before when she slipped out before he woke up. Left before any of it became truly real.

 

Because this is his second chance, and hers, to have what they never let themselves have before, and she's not going to waste it.

%MCEPASTEBIN%


End file.
